


Would You Love A Monster Man

by JasperIsAFanboy



Series: The Afternoon Light Cuts to Size [23]
Category: Blood Drive (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blasphemy, Body Horror, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Consentacles, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tentacles, does this count as cannibalism play tho, hi im jasper and i like monster boyfriends, im so disappointed that isnt already a tag, naughty tentacles, ok how is that a tag but 'naughty tentacles' isnt, probably, what even is that anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-04-06 15:40:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14060112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JasperIsAFanboy/pseuds/JasperIsAFanboy
Summary: Just a collection of porn. With tentacles.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so bc im ur resident monster fucker (more or less) i had to write smut. gonna leave the chapter count unknown bc this is just gonna be like. exactly what the summary says, just a collection of porn. just kind of a dumping ground for porn. might be more in the future, might not be. idk. 
> 
> title from lordi's song o the same name. 
> 
> i am not sorry.

“It’s not… it’s not a cunt, Julian.”

“Funny, you sure seem to be acting like it is.”

“Maybe because you’re sitting on my dick—“ 

Rasher bit back a hissed moan as Julian slid his middle and ring fingers into the maw’s lips (and rolled his hips against Rasher’s), but couldn’t stop his back arching and absolutely proving Julian’s point. One of the tentacles inside brushed itself against Julian’s fingers, tasting the acrid paint on his fingertips. Rasher made a face. 

“Wish you’d washed the paint off, your fingers taste disgusting,” he said. Julian stared at him. 

“That was a  _ tongue _ ?” he asked. “I thought it was a tentacle!”

“Both. And whatever it tastes, I taste. So wash the fuckin’ paint off.”

Julian made a wondering noise. He pushed his fingers deeper, found the tentacle again. He rubbed his fingertips over it, making Rasher groan, and slid his forefinger in. 

“You’re gonna… you’re gonna lose your fingers, it has a mind of its own,” Rasher said. “Keep sticking things in there, sooner or later it’s gonna bite.” He thought, but very carefully did not say,  _ Thank god you don’t have a dick or you’d probably stick that in there too.  _ Then,  _ Please do not put what passes for your junk on the maw.  _ He would absolutely not put it past Julian to try it, and he very much did not want to eat Julian from the groin up. He didn’t want to eat Julian at all. Again.

He arched as Julian stroked the tentacle again, this time with all four fingers. The maw actually  _ purred _ , a deep, bassy rumble that was felt more than heard. Julian’s eyes went wide.

“What the  _ fuck _ ,” he said, stroking the tentacle again. 

The maw purred a second time, and Rasher bit his lip. He could feel the vibration in his bones. He had absolutely no intention of admitting it, since he didn’t exactly want to encourage Julian to ever stick his hand in the maw, but what Julian was doing really did feel good. Part of it was the fact that Julian’s ass was right on top of his dick, but something about Julian’s fingers being that deep inside him was… weirdly titillating, especially since it was a part of him he’d never expected to have Julian’s fingers in. He bucked his hips against Julian’s as his cock throbbed. Julian grinned, then slipped his entire hand into the maw. He gripped the tentacle, and Rasher gasped. The tentacle twisted and rolled out, wrapped around Julian’s wrist.

“J-Julian, please be fucking careful,” Rasher panted. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Julian asked. With his other hand he reached up and tugged one of Rasher’s nipple rings. Rasher let out a gasping moan, let out another as Julian stroked the tentacle like he was stroking Rasher’s cock. The tentacle twisted around his wrist without constricting, leaving a faint trace of slime on his skin. Julian let out a purr of his own and shifted, moving his hips until Rasher’s cock pressed against the place where his cock should have been. He bore down with his hips and groaned, bent to kiss Rasher.

Rasher moaned into the kiss and twisted his fingers into Julian’s hair with one hand, grasped his trim waist with the other. Caution was briefly forgotten as Rasher pulled him close. Three more tentacles uncoiled from the maw and wrapped around Julian’s waist and hips, slick and hot, sliding up and down his body like hands. Rasher broke the kiss and put his hands on Julian’s shoulders, tried to push him away.

“Julian, wait, the tentacles--”

Julian kissed him again, then said, “They’re not grasping.” He stretched full-length atop Rasher, still stroking the tentacle, still working his hips. He pulled back slightly as if to prove it, and sure enough the tentacles let him go. 

Rasher had to admit the maw wasn’t demanding to be fed. If anything it was ramping up his arousal, as if the maw was as aroused as he was. Each slide of a tentacle over Julian’s skin brought the taste of him to the back of Rasher’s throat, as if Rasher himself was licking him, not the tentacles. It was almost as heady as having Julian’s hands in the maw up to the wrist. After a moment, Rasher pulled him down for a hard kiss. He dragged his nails down Julian’s back, making Julian moan and rut harder against Rasher. 

Fuck.  _ Fuck _ . He wished they’d done this sooner. He thought he’d been aroused before, but now with the maw, with the tentacles licking all over Julian’s body, it’s as if his entire body is one big nerve, singing in tune to Julian. Every touch burned through him. Another tentacle slipped out of the maw, slipped between Julian’s legs to press against the narrow fold there. Julian actually keened, his body going taut. The tentacles tightened, the one between his legs rubbed back and forth, and Julian gasped.

“Are y-you controlling them?” he panted. Rasher shook his head.

“Mind of its own, told you,” he replied. 

“Thank fuck for that.”

One more tentacle rolled out and went between Julian’s legs, joining the other. Julian gasped, then jerked and went stiff for a moment. He sagged against Rasher, catching his breath, as the tentacles moved from between his legs and wrapped around his waist. Rasher kept rutting against him, biting his lip again, and cried out when Julian reached down and grasped his cock. A few good strokes, and Rasher arched and came. It seemed far too long, but part of it was the maw; sensation flooded through the tentacles and the maw, which let out another rumbling purr. 

The tentacles slowly retracted, sliding back into the maw before it closed. The last one, the one that had wound around Julian’s wrist, seemed disinclined to leave, but eventually it too retreated. For several minutes all they could do was lie there. Then Rasher huffed out a tired laugh.

“You’re covered in slime,” he said. Julian made a disgusted noise.

“If that hadn’t felt good I’d ban ever doing that again,” he said. He slid his fingers through the tentacle slime on his side. He considered it before flicking it off his fingers. “But it felt fucking amazing.” He pushed himself up, still straddling Rasher. He stroked the lips of the maw. “How many tentacles are in there, anyway?”

Rasher shrugged and put his hands behind his head. “Never counted.” 

“Hm.” Julian traced Rasher’s ribs where the hollow of the maw exposed them. Then he lightly smacked his cheek. “I need a shower. Come on.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did u know that tentacles and human tongues are the same type of biological structure, a muscular hydrostat? themoreuknow.jpg

Julian wakes to find Rasher pressed up close behind him, their legs tangled and Rasher’s skinny arms wrapped around Julian’s waist, almost like Julian’s a teddy bear. It’s amusing and endearing, and he can’t help but revel in the sensation of being completely wrapped up by another person. Even (or perhaps especially) when that person could very easily take a massive chunk out of his back if he wanted. It adds a nice little frisson of danger. But the maw is quiet, not even licking Julian’s back as he’s occasionally awakened to (and isn’t  _ that _ an unsettling wake-up call). In fact everything seems very quiet. Without pulling away, Julian cranes his head around towards the window, sees it’s still dark. Probably too early to justify getting up. There’s no visible clock handy and his phone is on his desk, at the far end of the trailer, and he decides he really doesn’t want to get out of bed yet. He’s wide awake, but far too comfortable to leave the warm blankets and Rasher’s grasp. He’ll probably be bored out of his mind in a few minutes, but for now, he’s content.

He shifts slightly, hoping to maneuver in such a way that he’s not pinning Rasher’s arm. He could easily roll Rasher more onto his back and just sprawl on top of him, but he’s enjoying being the little spoon. Though his movements are minute, they’re still enough to filter through sleep and bring Rasher around. Julian feels his beard and nose against the back of his neck, hears his deep inhale like he’s scenting Julian, feels his grip tighten. Rasher kisses the back of his head, then the twin scars on the back of his neck. He nuzzles the crook of his neck and stills, and Julian thinks he’s fallen back to sleep. But then his hands stroke slow along Julian’s flank and belly, making Julian purr like a cat. Rasher gives a sleepy chuckle. He presses an open kiss to Julian’s shoulder before putting his hands to Julian’s hips.

“Up for it?” he mumbles against Julian’s skin.

“Yeah,” Julian says, his voice sleep-rough and slightly breathy. 

Rasher seems to come more awake then. He shifts against Julian, presses his hips to Julian’s as he lays more kisses against Julian’s neck. He follows the line of Julian’s neck to his jawline, where he leaves lingering, languid kisses as his hands keep stroking Julian’s torso. Then he nips Julian’s earlobe, making him jump slightly. 

“Cheeky,” Julian says, grinning, as he pinches Rasher’s hip. Rasher just giggles and does it again. Julian bites his lip as Rasher’s nips move down his neck to his shoulder, as his hands turn more deliberate in their motions. The playfulness is fading, slowly replaced by something… not serious, exactly, since in matters not pertaining to the race Julian is never serious, but more earnest, perhaps. He can feel Rasher’s rising cock against his ass. He rolls his hips back, and this time Rasher purrs.

Julian tries to roll over, but Rasher tightens his grip and bites his shoulder. It sends a wash of arousal through Julian, making him tense slightly. Rasher’s arm, the one under Julian, angles up so he can roll the pad of his thumb over Julian’s nipple; the other goes down between his legs so he can press his hand there, roll his palm against Julian, and Julian moans and arches back slightly. Pressed this close, he can feel it when the maw purrs (which as always is more a feeling than a sound, a vibration he feels in his bones). Evidently it wants in on the fun, because he feels something slick trail along his spine. He wonders how sentient it really is. Maybe it’s just reacting to pleasure in a mindless attempt to obtain more, like an animal might. 

Rasher moves, props himself up against the pillows and tugs Julian between his legs. He still hasn’t let Julian turn around, though, so Julian wonders what he has in mind. He gets his answer: three tentacles slide out of the maw and come up between Julian’s legs. Two just nudge Julian’s legs open, but the third curves itself to Julian’s crotch. Rasher’s breathing grows harsher, and abruptly Julian remembers that the tentacles function as tongues and Rasher tastes what they taste. 

Julian’s mind blanks when the tentacle flexes and ripples  _ hard  _ against him, sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body. It rubs against him as it moves, and the combination of hard pressure and friction is breathtaking. He lets out a frankly embarrassing breathless moan and drops his head back against Rasher’s shoulder. Rasher, meanwhile, rolls his hard cock against Julian and presses a biting kiss to his neck. Julian wonders if he could get him to bite properly and leave a mark. He rolls his hips against the tentacle just as it ripples again, and it makes Julian moan again and clutch blindly at Rasher’s hair and the pillow. Another tentacle coils around Julian’s waist. Two of the tentacles between his legs tighten around his thighs, pulling them further apart, as the third rubs against Julian. Rasher’s hands are at his chest, his fingers teasing his nipples. The maw is purring almost constantly, a low-frequency rumble that Julian feels all through his body and it’s so heady, somehow, that almost-physical shiver of sound. It’s like the tingle of the battery on his tongue, but stronger and harder, deeper. It’s a reminder that Rasher could kill him as easily as fuck him, that if Rasher wanted to eat him he could and there’s nothing Julian could do to stop him.

Julian supposes it’s twisted that the idea of fucking a monster like Rasher turns him on, but he’s never been anything  _ but _ twisted so he hardly cares.

He unclenches his hand from the pillow and grasps the tentacle around his waist. It’s slick like frog skin, with the same softness and underlying strength as a tongue. Rasher moans breathlessly. He moans more loudly when Julian takes hold of the tentacle between his legs and strokes it like he’s jerking his cock. The maw rumbles loudly, and Julian feels more tentacles sliding over his back. He knows he’s going to be absolutely covered in slime by the time they finish, just like the first time the maw got involved in bed, but as then he can’t bring himself to mind, at least until after he comes. The tentacles feel like tongues sliding over him. 

One of Rasher’s hands leaves Julian’s chest and clutches his hip as he ruts harder against him. From the way his fingers clench somewhat convulsively and erratically, Julian thinks he must be close. He tightens his grip on the tentacle between his legs, strokes harder, turns his head and pulls Rasher into an uncoordinated kiss that’s not a bit of finesse and all tongue and teeth. Julian bites Rasher’s lip hard enough to draw blood and licks the little split before kissing Rasher again, and maybe it’s the taste of iron that does it because Rasher groans and comes. He arches hard against Julian, pants rough against his ear, and all the tentacles tighten, especially the one between Julian’s legs. It even curls around his wrist slightly. The sudden pressure brings Julian off too, and he gasps out Rasher’s name before going limp.

The only sounds in the trailer are the sounds of their panting. Then the maw purrs, and the tentacle that had been rubbing against Julian shifts to curl around his thigh. The others slide back, retreating into the maw. Julian absently pets the one that stayed. His other hand goes to Rasher’s, still resting on his hip, and he links their fingers together. Rasher kisses his neck. 

After a few minutes of this, Julian opens his eyes. He looks down to see the slime absolutely coating his thighs and waist, and makes a small expression of disgust. It hasn’t even begun to dry, which really is something of a mercy since it’d probably be harder to remove dry.

“I am very strongly considering banning tentacles outside the shower,” he remarks. Rasher just chuckles against his neck. “Are you sure you have no control over them?”

“None at all,” Rasher says, entirely too innocently. Julian eyes him.

“You’re going to wash me off, then.”

This is absolutely no punishment whatsoever, and they’re both well aware of it. Julian leads the way.


	3. omophagos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when cannibalism becomes religious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so u know that post abt the little kid wondering how many communion wafers u would have to eat before u've eaten a whole jesus and all the comments are ppl doing the math to figure it out, as well as the 'communion is church sanctioned cannibalism' joke? well, this is what happens when i take both o the above far too srsly. the file name for this is 'glorious blasphemy written by an unrepentant atheist' so take that as what warning u like. i have no religious background/affiliations beyond being vaguely sympathetic w heathens and pagans, an interest in catholic symbolism, and random bits o knowledge o non-christian religions. so i'm exactly the right person to be writing cannibal monster smut w religious overtones ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ (also more knowledge abt possession and exorcisms than u might expect from an atheist but that's neither here nor there.)
> 
> hey look i didn't use a song title for once! tho im p sure i could find one if i wanted. (the obv choice is 'worship me like a god' by the darkest of the hillside thickets but technically i used that one already.) in our internal timeline, this is sometime after 'we're on the rampage in a robot dinosaur' but before 'burrow your way to my heart.'

Compared to Julian’s trailer, Rasher’s is beyond Spartan. He doesn’t spend much time there, after all. Linoleum floors (a recent addition), a few extra pairs of jeans, another jacket, a bed, a table, a chair. What it certainly lacks are candles, however, so when Rasher sees that distinct yellow flickering light in the windows, he’s immediately suspicious. He’s tired, sore, and on edge; the last thing he wants to deal with is someone in his trailer. He reaches under his jacket to loosen the corset strings. The maw rumbles, lets a tentacle push against the corset. It lets out a few more once he pulls the corset off entirely, eager to be unrestrained. Under the racers and the roadies and, distantly, Suzie, the air tastes of Julian. Rasher relaxes. Leave it to Julian. He’d been killed in the last raid, and as always Rasher had feared that that death would be his last. Clearly he’s come back just fine.

He opens the door, finds that Julian has covered every flat surface with candles of varying sizes, from tiny tea-lights to slender tapers to fat columns that look like they were stolen from a church. The heat off them is appreciable, their light almost blinding. He looks over to his bed and almost backs right out the door in shock.

Julian, both hands resting on his cane, stands to one side of the bed in full regalia, feathered collar and top hat and all. He tilts his head imperiously back before looking at the bed itself, where the real surprise lies. The body he’d so recently… _vacated_ is arranged atop the blankets, propped upright on pillows, stripped bare. The wound from the disemboweling gapes wide, the intestines spilling out and neatly looped over the hands, tucked almost demurely into the corpse’s lap. Its head has rolled to one side on its broken neck. One or two bullet wounds bloom bright red like roses against the corpse’s bloodless skin. Julian has closed its eyes. It’s eerie and majestic and so, so surreal, to see the living Julian standing there beside his corpse. It makes reality feel thin, soft, like if Rasher pressed hard enough it’d shatter.

Julian strides over to Rasher and puts the head of his cane on Rasher’s shoulder. He presses down lightly. Rasher goes slowly to his knees, eyes on the corpse.

“Julian,” he says, hoarsely. Sweat’s beading along his spine, but whether it’s fear or something else behind it Rasher can’t say.

“Right before that guard broke my neck, holding my intestines in my hands, I saw the way you fought to reach me,” Julian says. His voice is its usual purr, but there’s something lurking under it that Rasher can’t get enough of a handle on to identify. “Like a demon of hell, like a berserker of old, unstoppable and so wonderfully terrifying. A worthy last sight.” His cane moves from Rasher’s shoulder to press briefly to each round, puckered scar left by the bullets Rasher hadn’t bothered to dodge when he saw Julian’s belly opened by a guard with a massive knife. Julian sets his cane under Rasher’s chin and tips his head back. His wide smile is soft and vicious and full of teeth. “What happened to the guards after I died?”

“I killed them all,” Rasher replies in a harsh whisper. Julian’s pupils blow wide and suddenly Rasher can smell his arousal. “I killed the guards and I burned the lab to the ground.” How the guards had screamed when Rasher came for them, his body stretching and warping and changing before their eyes into something monstrous and beastly. He’d never transformed so quickly before; his body still aches.

Julian lets out a low, pleased laugh and reaches out to tenderly caress Rasher’s cheek. His thumb strokes over the sharp sweep of Rasher’s cheekbone. The touch startles a gasp out of Rasher, who suddenly feels overheated, oversensitive, as if his senses have all been keyed to their highest extremes. Julian’s hand is cold as ice and Rasher feels the shock of it in his bones. His breathing has gone shaky.

“My dear monster. My beloved executioner. My strong right hand,” Julian says. He tosses his cane to the floor, and the clatter of it makes Rasher twitch. Julian cups Rasher’s cheek with his other hand. “Never did God have so loyal an angel at his side.”

Rasher closes his eyes. He’s trembling, Julian’s words and the gentle touches are winding him tighter and higher than a hand on his dick, plucking at nerves still shredded from the raid that very nearly turned disastrous. The guards had been waiting for them, waiting with guns and knives and though Rasher had done his best to keep Julian from getting killed he’d still failed, and that failure had sat leaden and heavy in him no matter how many guards he killed, no matter how brightly the flames had burned when he put the place to the torch. To have Julian back no worse for wear, not even mad that he’d been killed… it’s heady. Rasher reaches up and grasps Julian’s wrists. He dares to lean forward and press his forehead to Julian’s hip. He closes his eyes and breathes in the smell of him, leather and blood and hot metal and arousal.

They stay like this for a long moment, a worshipper kneeling in prayer at the feet of his god. Then Julian’s hand leaves Rasher’s cheek, and Rasher looks up. Julian smiles down at him.

“A god rewards his most devout servants, doesn’t he?” he asks rhetorically. Rasher’s breath leaves his lungs in a rush of terrible understanding. Julian pulls him to his feet, then circles around behind him. He presses close and puts his hands around Rasher’s waist. His fingers tug gently at the maw, pull the lips apart slightly. It growls, lets a tentacle out. Julian pushes Rasher towards the bed, breath hot against his neck. “What do the Christians say again? ‘This is my body. This is my blood.’” Julian kisses his shoulder. “‘Do this in remembrance of me.’”

Later, Rasher will wonder where in the hell Julian’s ideas of religion came from. What god gives his body to his servants as a reward? What god would encourage his executioner to devour him for good behavior? But Julian’s ideas of religion are as unconventional as the rest of him. A Dionysos aloof from the madness inspired by him and committed in his name, a Machiavellian devil with the power of creation, a god who willingly abdicates his throne to his chosen few and gives them a taste of divinity just before he sacrifices them to chaos and death and reclaims his place. Rasher knows he will always be Julian’s angel of death, always ready and waiting in Julian’s shadow to strike down whoever has earned his wrath. The bull skull on his back, draped with poison ivy and wheat and bunches of grapes, testifies soundlessly and loudly to his devotion.

But this? Can he do this? Even with Julian at his back, goading him on, can he really devour his god? He’d wanted to eat Julian when they met, but that was then. That was before everything, before Julian earned his complete loyalty, before Heart stole Rasher and turned him into a monster, before Julian looked at their work and pronounced it good and found delight in everything Rasher only found hatred and fear in. He knows eating this empty shell won’t kill Julian. He doesn’t think he could kill Julian if he wanted to. Eating this discarded body won’t cause Julian any pain. Hell, Julian has used his own corpses for decoration, he keeps his feathered collar on a mannequin topped with one of his own skulls. But to eat him?

Julian stands at his back, waiting for Rasher to accept this… twisted communion, this unholy Eucharist. What does he get out of this, Rasher wonders? What does he gain from seeing his most dedicated follower eat one of his own discarded corpses? Is he just being his usual dramatic and warped self? Is it seeing Rasher abandoning himself to his monstrous nature? Is he only glorying in his own indestructibility?

The maw, naturally ignorant of all of this in its mindless way, is only reacting to the presence of food. It flicks a few tentacles out to lick over the corpse’s skin. They prowl over the coiled intestines like snakes. It just wants to be fed. If Rasher and Julian are elements of the divine, the maw, mindless and hungry, is plainly and fully an element of the earthly. Its concerns are an animal’s concerns: food, pleasure, and in measure enough that it never goes wanting.

Rasher feels Julian’s lips against his ear. “Do it,” Julian whispers.

Rasher closes his eyes and steps forward. He can feel himself changing, feel his spine lengthening and his nails turning sharp. He knows his hands and forearms are turning black. He can feel the pull on his skin as his spine stretches long and, eventually, breaks through his skin. More tentacles emerge from the maw. They curl around the limbs of the corpse, pull it to the maw. It’s as limp and unresisting as a doll, the head lolling disgustingly. The maw growls as it opens, but the tentacles are moving slowly, hindered by Rasher’s reluctance. But as soon as it comes close enough to bite the legs off below the knee, Rasher’s reluctance vanishes. His eyes open again as he half falls forward and braces himself on the bed. The tentacles swarm over the body now, wrapping tight around it and hauling it to the maw. There’s very little blood spray, since there's no blood pressure, but there's still blood in the corpse's veins. The thrashing of the tentacles smears blood on Rasher’s skin and flicks droplets onto the walls and bed as blood oozes from the corpse. The sheets are badly stained before long. The head is the last to disappear into the maw.

Rasher holds himself there for a moment, panting. He glances at the window over the bed and sees that his transformation was nearly a complete one; he’s lacking only the extra arms and extra two or so feet of height. He can also just see the rapt expression on Julian’s face. He turns, lets Julian see the blood on his body. The aches left from the transformation are little more than a memory. He knows that any additional meat would have helped, but the fact that it was Julian’s gives it more meaning than it otherwise would have had: healed by the flesh of his lover, his god.

The trailer smells of blood and candle wax and arousal. Rasher doesn’t know quite when it happened, but he’s achingly hard.

Julian reaches up and pulls him into a kiss, and when he makes to pull away Rasher seizes his arms and turns them around. Julian yelps as he always does when someone startles him by manhandling him. He pushes Julian onto the bed, knowing some of his collar’s feathers will be damaged and bent and that Julian will find some way to make him pay for that but he’s completely unable to care. Julian doesn’t seem to care either, since he only grins at Rasher and opens his trousers.

Rasher may be an angel of death, but he doesn’t have to kill to please his god.

With one hand he tugs at Julian’s cravat and shirt collar, opens them enough to bare his throat. He moves in and sets his teeth under Julian’s jaw, earning a moan and Julian’s fingers clawing at the back of his head. His other hand goes to Julian’s trousers, tugging them down before shoving between his legs, where he’s already slick. Julian moans again as he arches against Rasher. After a moment he pushes Rasher back, kicks off his boots and his trousers. He pulls Rasher back against him, spreading his legs wide, guides a tentacle down between his legs. Rasher grasps his wrists and pins them to the bed. He directs the tentacle further, suddenly grateful for its slime. He doesn’t want to just rub Julian off or eat him out, and he isn’t using his fingers when he has claws.

When the tentacle rubs at his hole and presses in ever so slightly, Julian’s eyes go wide.

“Rasher—“ he gasps. “Rash—“ He breaks off with a moan when the tentacle presses deeper. Rasher knows he’ll have to be careful, a new body won’t be as malleable. But he thinks Julian’s into the idea enough. Certainly he seems to be gagging for it now, whining and rolling his hips and clawing at Rasher’s arms. Rasher knows Julian will make it very clear if he starts to hurt.

The tentacle’s natural slime eases its way into Julian as well as actual lube would, which Rasher’s glad for since he’s not sure he even has lube in his own trailer and he has no intention of going to Julian’s. He knows he has condoms at least, which he’ll need to protect his piercings. He works the tentacle in and out, watching the play of expressions on Julian’s face, the way his mobile features twist in arousal. A few tentacles fall from the maw to slide over his skin, and he tips his head back. On impulse Rasher leans down and bites his neck again. Julian cries out and clenches reflexively around the tentacle, which makes Rasher moan and the maw growl. One of the tentacles that had been exploring his skin goes down between his legs and rubs against him, making him keen.

The tentacle opening him up pulls out almost entirely and easily slides back in. Julian’s nails dig hard into the scanty meat of Rasher’s arm. He pants for a moment before commanding, “Fuck me _now,_ ” in a voice like gravel in velvet. Rasher shivers. Julian could make a fortune with that voice.

Rasher leans back to the bedside table, finds a condom and, to his surprise, a nearly empty bottle of lube. There’s just enough left. He uses some over his cock, just enough to ease his piercings in the condom, then rolls the condom on. Julian is watching with a predatory intensity as Rasher uses the last of the lube. Rasher can feel the fine tremors in his thighs.

Julian’s voice goes taut and then breaks as Rasher slowly pushes into him. The tentacle did a good job opening him up, but there’s enough resistance that Rasher pauses to let him adjust. He holds still, halfway buried in him, until Julian squeezes his hips with his thighs.

“Keep going,” he says, still in that gravelled purr.

Rasher obeys. He keeps his thrusts slow, though every bit of him is screaming to push harder, faster, to abandon higher thought to animal lust and _claim_ Julian like a beast. He knows it’ll make Julian impatient, but he also knows Julian understands the reasoning. Pain is not an element of their pleasure in that moment. No matter how sanguine he’s been so far, Julian does not like dying, and rarely if ever finds pleasure in pain right after coming back. Rasher doesn’t make the mistake of being gentle, but he at least attempts to be considerate.

Then Julian wraps his legs around Rasher’s hips and grabs his face, pulls him down for a kiss that’s more teeth than anything.

“If you don’t quit pussyfooting around and fuck me like you mean it, I’m going to find out exactly what parts of you don’t grow back,” Julian growls.

Well.

Rasher snaps his hips forward and Julian lets out a noise somewhere between a yelp and a moan. His nails dig into Rasher’s back, and the maw rumbles in reaction. It lets more tentacles out, a few of which curl around Julian’s waist. Rasher doesn’t hold back any longer, instead pounds into Julian hard enough to rock him almost into the wall behind his head. Julian seems aware of this, as one of his hands leaves Rasher’s back to brace against the wall. It gives him more leverage to rock forward against Rasher’s thrusts. His breath is coming in harsh, gasping moans now, his legs tight around Rasher’s waist. There’s still a tentacle between his legs, rubbing at a different pace to Rasher’s thrusts and he can tell it’s driving Julian wild. Rasher leans back a little to look at him and it’s like a blow, seeing him amongst the bloodstained sheets and knowing the blood was his, his shirt and waistcoat half-open, his hips and waist swarmed by tentacles like tongues, the flush across his painted nose and cheekbones and spreading down his chest. His half-lidded eyes glitter when he looks up and catches Rasher’s gaze. Whatever he sees, he must like, because one corner of his mouth lifts in a grin.

Julian grasps a tentacle and brings it up to his lips. He kisses it, then licks it. He sucks it into his mouth, eyes fluttering closed. The maw rumbles loudly, and Rasher can’t parse the sensations it’s giving him, excitement and confusion and pleasure and…ownership? Rasher tamps hard on that, actually growls out loud. Julian is _his_ , not the maw’s. Julian may be the god to Rasher’s angel, but their ownership of each other is far from one-sided. Rasher knows that to others it looks one-sided, and that Julian enjoys perpetuating that idea, but he also knows that Julian is kept by Rasher just as much as Rasher is kept by Julian. It’s at times more a god and a devil between them, than a god and a servile angel, equals rather than a master and servant. Julian wouldn’t spread his legs for someone he didn’t think his equal. The maw has yet to learn this, evidently, doesn’t know its place in the scheme of things.

If Julian’s aware of this internal argument, he doesn’t give any sign, but Rasher’s growl does something for him since his thighs turn tight and trembling around Rasher’s hips. His moans take on a keening edge, his grasp on Rasher’s back turns more and more desperate.

Rasher looks him over again and has to close his eyes against the vision of Julian half-naked, covered in tentacle slime, the tentacles themselves writhing over him, a debauched god being pleasured by his most trusted angel. Julian’s moaning around the tentacle in his mouth and Rasher can feel the vibrations right down its length and into the maw, into him. He pulls the tentacle out of Julian’s mouth and leans down to kiss him hard. He’s close, he’s so close, he can feel it building in the pit of his stomach, he needs—he has to—He closes his fist around Julian’s shirt and waistcoat and yanks hard. Buttons spring free, something in the feathered collar creaks ominously, but Rasher is rewarded by a scandalized gasp from Julian and the smooth bared expanse of his shoulder. Rasher bites him hard enough to draw blood, the taste of iron welling against his tongue, and—

Rasher comes hard. His vision goes white and he feels like the top of his head has been blown off, like his soul is about to come loose from its moorings within his body. He suddenly understands religious ecstasy. Julian’s coming too, Rasher can feel him clenching around him, hear him gasping mostly incoherently but it sounds a little like Rasher’s name, and once the aftershocks fade he collapses atop Julian just as Julian goes limp.

They’re sticky and sweaty but neither is inclined to move. Julian’s legs relax and fall from Rasher’s hips. After a hazy moment that might have been seconds or minutes, his hand comes up to trail in languid sweeps along Rasher’s spine. Rasher purrs in response and nuzzles Julian’s neck. He kisses the vicious mark he left on Julian’s shoulder. It’s already healing.

“Never did God have so loyal an angel,” Julian mumbles, “or feel so thoroughly well-fucked.”

Rasher buries his face in the crook of Julian’s neck and shoulder and laughs.


	4. tapetum lucidum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> or, why stopping to beat someone up in the middle of the desert is a bad fuckin idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the tapetum lucidum is the layer o the eye that makes animal eyes glow when the light hits them just so. it's also hella #aesthetic and i'll never not be disappointed that humans don't have them. i reference it abt 50 million times when i write monster!rasher bc boy do i love eyeshine. i wrote this as a. hmm. kind o a palate cleanser/penitence after the prion fic bc wow i needed smth fun after that agony. (that said, how did it get posted after 'omophagos?' bc this was a Bear to finish for some reason ugh.) internal timeline wise, this takes place. uh. idk when tbh. whenever ur little hearts desire, dear readers.
> 
> content warnings on this one, cats: homophobia, violence, slurs. also series-standard gore/cannibalism. in other words, the homophobes get immediate retribution bc i'm an angry little queer who wishes he could go full monster on homophobes.
> 
> edit (8/15): tweaked the ending after my dear dilan made a few excellent suggestions

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking _joking_.”

The bone sticking out of the engine looks like a large femur, and a few of the engine’s teeth have gotten stuck in the head. Julian can only stare in disbelief; what the hell kind of bones did that last person have, that they actually managed to jam a blood engine? Julian is pretty sure this is a first. He leans around the open hood and gestures for Rasher, sitting behind the wheel, to try starting the engine again. It only strains against the bone and makes a horrible grinding noise. Julian quickly signals Rasher to shut it off. If it dies, they’re stranded in the middle of the desert, and that’s not how Julian fancies spending his night. Bad enough they’re stuck as it is, thanks to the bone. He sighs, glares down at the engine with his hands on his hips. He hears the door open and close, followed by the sound of Rasher’s boots on the gravel shoulder.

“Well?” Rasher asks.

“Unless we can get that bone loose, we’re stuck,” Julian says. “And we can’t do that, because the whole thing’s jammed shut, it won’t open or close. Not only are the teeth stuck in that bone, which don’t even ask me how that’s possible because I don’t have a clue, but I think there’re other bones stuck deeper in.” He sighs again.

Rasher snorts. “So in other words, it has indigestion.”

Julian gives him a very dirty look. “I’m _so_ glad you’re amused by this,” he says. “I ought to make you extract the bone.”

“You could, but you’re the one who heals in minutes. If I lose a hand in the engine, it won’t grow back. You can just.” He wiggles his fingers. “Off yourself and get a whole new body.” He links his hands behind his back and lifts his arms, making his entire spine pop. Julian pulls a face. “ ‘Sides, I gotta piss.”

With that, he turns and heads away from the road. Julian flips him off as he disappears into the night, then turns back to the engine and the jammed bone. He’s not at all sure how he’s going to get it out, unless he can pry the jaws apart. Maybe someone will come by, some passing good Samaritan who’dbe dumb enough to help a stranded motorist on the side of a lonely desert highway; shoving a body in might dislodge the bone.

Or just make the problem worse. Damn. He taps his fingers against his chin.

He turns away from the engine, huffing a sigh, and stares down the road. To his surprise, he spots headlights drawing ever nearer. Looks like he’ll get to try a body after all. He lowers the hood to hide the gore-covered engine and does his best to look harmless.

The car turns out to be a full-size pickup with a diesel engine, and it pulls over and stops right in front of Julian. He smiles broadly, tries not to make it intimidating. The truck’s occupants leave the headlights on as they exit; Julian hears four doors open and close, hears a brief snatch of what sounds like mainstream modern country music. That fake twang is painfully distinctive.

“Well, well, well, would you look at this,” one of them says before Julian can speak. “Look at this fuckin’ princess out here all on her own.”

Julian’s eyes narrow. This does not bode well. He can see five men surrounding him now, each one easily Rasher’s height but twice his width. The headlights are blinding him to any real details. The first man gets right up in his face. He reeks of beer. Julian holds his grin in place.

“I’m having some car trouble, gentlemen,” he says. “I was hoping one of you might be able to help me. I—“

The first man grabs Julian by his waistcoat and hauls him onto his toes. Julian bites back a squeak. “Oh, you got more than car trouble, princess,” the man snarls. “This ain’t the right place for a faggot like you.”

Oh, how tedious.

“Look, I—“ Julian starts.

The man punches him in the mouth. Julian feels his lip split but honestly he’d let it curl if he could. What a pain in the ass.

“Nobody asked you,” snarls one of the others. “Fuckin’ fairy, comin’ ‘round here.” The first man hauls Julian around and pins his arms behind his back, lets the second man come up and punch him in the stomach. The blow makes him double over but the man fists his hair and yanks his head back. “The fuck were you thinkin’, comin’ here dressed like that? Fuckin’ make-up and shit!” He hits Julian again, right in the nose. Bright pain blossoms just ahead of the warm gush of blood.

They throw him to the ground and lay into him, kicks to his kidneys and stomach and the occasional punch to the stomach and face if someone hauls him up for it, all the while shouting the same tired insults about his sexuality. How dull. At one point he catches a glimpse of very familiar red points in the shadows, and manages to shake his head enough to warn Rasher off but not enough to make his assailants suspicious. Finally he gets bored and feigns unconsciousness. They hit him a few more times, but with his apparent unresponsiveness they quickly get bored too. They throw him into the dirt and leave, high-fiving each other and laughing, congratulating themselves on a job well done. Amateurs. They’ve got nothing on Aki.

Julian waits to pick himself up until the truck has driven off. He’s already healing. As he pushes himself to his feet, leaning on the car for support, he hears Rasher approach. His footsteps sound different, he thinks.

“Well, that accomplished nothing,” Julian says. He wipes blood from the corner of his mouth. He makes a moue of disgust when he sees the blood on his waistcoat and shirt; he’d forgotten how messy it was to be on the receiving end of a beating. He’s itching where the bruises and scrapes are healing and it’s damned uncomfortable. He hopes Rasher won’t make fun of him for getting the shit kicked out of him by a bunch of homophobes. “Did you see the whole thing?”

“Yeah.” Something’s wrong with his voice; it sounds rougher, breathier, deeper. “I did.”

Julian turns. A grin spreads across his face. He gives him a very slow once-over. His grin turns into a leer.

“Didn’t know you were hungry,” he says.

“I’m not, but that’s not stopping me.” Rasher’s eyes catch the moonlight as he looks down at Julian. A tentacle reaches out and curls over Julian’s cheek like a caressing hand.

Julian turns his head and kisses the tentacle. “Sic ‘em,” he says.

“Wanna watch?” Rasher asks. One of his four hands reaches out and brushes dust from Julian’s waistcoat. His claws catch slightly on a button.

Julian purrs, “Oh, _yes_.”

 

Julian follows in Rasher’s wake as they head off into the desert night. He has no idea how Rasher’s tracking the men that attacked him, since he can’t see a thing despite the bright white moonlight frosting the sands around them, but he knows Rasher’s night vision is as formidable as an owl’s, that Rasher has senses available to him that Julian lacks. At one point, Rasher pauses and lifts his head, peers around slowly. His eyes catch the moonlight and throw it back red. The tentacles writhing out of his maw flick back and forth like snake tongues, flashing out and curling back in. He seems to be following their lead. Julian’s heart is pounding in excitement; he’s never gotten to watch Rasher on the hunt before, since Rasher had never wanted to risk eating him again. But now Rasher’s not hunting for food, he’s hunting for fun, and Julian is not in danger. He’s practically vibrating with anticipation.

The men are doing very little to hide themselves; they pulled off the road not far away to crack open beers and pass a fat joint around. Julian wonders if Rasher will be affected when he eats them. They both slow as they draw near; the men have a small fire going and all five are facing it. Their truck is parked nearby, its headlights on to illuminate them. One of them is enthusiastically reliving the beating they delivered to Julian, the others are laughing. Julian’s lip curls.

“Sic ‘em,” he whispers again.

Rasher turns to him and bends to nuzzle his neck, for which Julian gives him a quick kiss on his cheek, then in a silent rush of limbs and tentacles he’s on the men. He grabs the nearest one from behind in a number of tentacles, pulls him right to the maw, devours him in three messy bites. Blood sprays out, splashing over the face of the man nearest Rasher’s unfortunate first victim. The other four all scream, stumbling back and clustering on the far side of the fire. Rasher steps into the firelight and rises to his full height. The firelight plays over the maw, his exposed ribs, the vicious sharp bone spurs jutting from his elbows and wrists. His arms, all four of them, have gone burned-black from the tips of his claws to past his elbows, the color phasing out in his skin but extending almost to his shoulders in his veins. He’s agonizingly skinny like this, every muscle stretched thin and sinewy, joints unsettlingly angular, ribs achingly delineated where they’re still covered by flesh and skin. His eyes gleam red like little flames in his deep sockets.

With all eyes on Rasher, Julian’s free to circle around to find a better vantage point; he ends up opposite Rasher, giving him a perfect view of Rasher’s transformed body. He does nothing to hide his wide, toothy grin, and wouldn’t even if he could. What a perfect horror Rasher is, the very epitome of monstrous greed and gluttony. What a wonderful beast. How beautiful he is.

For a moment the tableau holds. Then—

“What the fuck is that?” one of the men cries.

It’s like a trigger. Rasher barrels forward on all six limbs, scattering the fire and extinguishing it.

Julian’s eyes go wide even as he grins again. The four men yell and try to mount a defense, but they’re all dead men walking. Rasher’s just too much for them. Watching the men try to fight is like watching someone trying to extinguish a wildfire with a watering can.

God. _God_. If Julian had a cock it’d be rock-hard. He’s wet as it is. What terrible majesty, what tremendous power, what terrifying ease Rasher has brought to the fight. He’s seen him rampaging out of control, he’s seen him set loose and a hair’s breadth from losing it completely, but now he’s seeing him in utter command of his beastliness and it’s glorious. The men don’t stand a chance against his four clawed hands, his tentacles, his towering eight or nine feet of height, the spurs at his wrists and elbows. Nothing they can throw at him fazes him in the slightest. A knife is simply swatted away, a bullet slows him only for a second before it’s pushed back out of a rapidly healing wound. One man is torn to pieces before each piece is shoved into the maw by a tentacle like so many pieces of candy. Two others are devoured whole. Julian is in awe and hopelessly, helplessly aroused.

Finally only one man remains, knocked on his ass in the sand, staring up at Rasher with eyes wide and skin pale. Julian notices that he’s the man who punched him in the stomach and called him a fairy. Rasher looms over the man like a demon out of hell. His eyes gleam in the moonlight.

“Oh god, please, please, don’t hurt me, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please—“ the man stammers and begs. Rasher’s elongated torso curves down as tentacles reach out to the man and curl around him in a cage. 

Rasher puts his face close to the other man’s. “Don’t beg _me_ for mercy,” he says in that warped voice. Julian shudders, arousal flashing hot and sharp between his legs. Rasher’s gaze lifts to Julian. “Beg him.”

The man looks over his shoulder, sees Julian coming into the light.

“Please, please,” he says, “tell it—tell it not to kill me, I don’t believe those things, I just went along with them, they made me, oh god please don’t kill me, don’t let it eat me!”

Julian strides over. He puts a boot on the man’s shoulder.

“ ‘It’?” he says. “You call my boyfriend ‘it’? After making fun of me and calling me all kinds of mean things? After you and your little friends thought to play a quick game of Smear the Queer? And you have the audacity to beg me for mercy!” He laughs. He looks up at Rasher, who catches his eye. Rasher’s head tilts slightly as his nostrils flare, and his mustache twitches. Julian pretends not to see this. “Kill him.”

The man screams, and the tentacles all constrict around him. Rasher doesn’t eat him, but the tentacles tear him apart nonetheless. Blood sprays everywhere, across Rasher’s torso and Julian’s face and the sand. The body parts fall to the sand, and Rasher gives them a disinterested look before focusing on Julian. He hasn’t begun to transform back.

“I can smell how wet you are,” he says.

Julian suddenly feels breathless. He steps towards Rasher, heedless of the gore staining his boots as he walks through the man’s remains, and stands inches from him. He’s half-panting now, hot all over. He wants Rasher, every transformed inch. He wants to lick the blood from his claws, to feel the tentacles sliding over his skin, to lose himself in four long bony hands. Rasher towers over him as the tentacles lift and point in Julian’s direction like snakes. With one hand, Julian reaches up and pulls Rasher’s head down for a deep, sloppy kiss; with the other, he unbuckles his belt and opens his trousers. He grasps a tentacle and guides it into his underwear as if it was Rasher’s hand. He moans and breaks the kiss as the tentacle rubs against him, clutches at Rasher’s third and fourth arms. Rasher or the maw, Julian can’t tell which, lets out a low rumbling purr. Two more tentacles slide around Julian’s waist, slipping under his shirt and trousers. He knows the slime will stain, but that’s a concern for later. He moans again, tips his head back as a fourth tentacle curls up his neck. It slides up against his jawline, and Julian turns to lick it.

Someone, something, lets out a hiss of pleasure, and Julian licks the tentacle again. The taste isn’t fantastic, but it’s no worse than cum and it’s well worth the sort of dumbfounded aroused expression Rasher usually makes when Julian licks or sucks one of the tentacles. Now his expression is all greedy lust. Rasher’s four arms suddenly wrap around Julian, two around his torso and two long hands under his ass and—holy shit, he _lifts_ him straight up. Julian lets out the most embarrassing squeal, both in surprise at being so effortlessly lifted by bony, scrawny Rasher and in arousal so intense it’s almost painful. Though Julian knows he’s not a big man, not really, he also knows he’s not light enough for anyone to pick up that easily, let alone Rasher. It’s unspeakably thrilling. He wraps his arms around Rasher’s neck and his legs around his torso and kisses him again, hard and passionate, the tentacle between his legs still rubbing against him. More tentacles push under his shirt, sliding up his back and torso. One adventurous tentacle rubs over his nipple, feeling not unlike a tongue. Julian arches against Rasher.

One of Rasher’s hands works between them, opening Julian’s waistcoat and then his shirt, paws at his chest. Julian can feel his claws scraping against his skin and shivers at the reminder of Rasher’s lethal potential. Rasher pulls away from Julian’s lips, kisses down his neck and his collarbone, pushes Julian’s shirt from his shoulder as he goes. Julian knows he looks like a teratophile’s wet dream, half-undressed in the four arms and multiple tentacles of his monstrous lover, held several feet off the ground. He tilts his head out of the way as Rasher returns to his neck, licking and sucking with the obvious intent to mark him. Rasher bites, and the pain almost brings Julian off; his teeth are sharper than normal. He rolls his hips as best as he can in Rasher’s grasp, feeling himself slide against the tentacle. Between his own wetness and the tentacle’s slime, his underwear is going to be ruined, though for once his wardrobe is the last thing on his mind.

The hands on his ass slide up, then down into his trousers. He can feel the slight catch of Rasher’s claws against his skin again as Rasher kneads his ass. He purrs against Julian’s throat, and this time Julian knows it came from Rasher alone; even if Julian hadn’t felt it against his skin, Rasher has made his approval of Julian’s ass clear multiple times. Julian grins and wriggles his ass into Rasher’s hands.

“Think you can fuck me like this?” he asks, nipping Rasher’s earlobe. The tentacle between his legs ripples and presses hard against him, making him gasp and moan. “Oh, fuck, do that again.”

Rasher chuckles at him, and the warped quality of his voice makes it far more sensual than it has any right to be. He pulls Julian in for another kiss, teases his nipple with the point of a claw before a tentacle moves up and flattens itself over his nipple like a tongue. Julian whines; there’s so much going on, between Rasher’s hands kneading his ass and his chest and the tentacles licking all over him and the one between his legs rhythmically flexing and rubbing against him. It’s enough to keep him almost at the edge, close enough to orgasm to make him desperate but not enough to tip him over.

He’s so focused on the tentacles sliding over his skin and Rasher’s lips and tongue against his neck that he almost doesn’t realize Rasher’s heading towards the car until he’s on his back on the roof. The tentacle slides out of his pants, and he lets out a keen at its absence. Rasher leans back, surveys Julian from head to toe, from the way his shirt hangs off one shoulder and how his trousers are almost off his hips. Rasher’s eyes are almost black, his pupils are blown so wide. Julian stares back, panting, knowing what kind of debauched picture he makes. He arches a little, displaying himself, stretches his arms over his head. He hears Rasher or the maw purr and grins.

“Come on,” he says, “come down here.”

Not breaking eye contact, Rasher leans down, licks slowly from the dip in Julian’s collarbone down his chest, his belly, further still, stopped only by the waistband of his underwear. Two hands come up to grope Julian’s chest while the other two pull his trousers and underwear to his knees, where they catch on his boots. Rasher yanks his boots off, then his trousers, leaving him completely bare below the waist. Julian doesn’t even feel the chill night air, he’s so keyed up. It feels so wonderfully obscene, all of it; they’re right out in the open, making absolutely no attempt to find privacy. Anyone who drives past is going to get an eyeful of—

“Oh, fuck!”

—An eyeful of a nine-foot monster eating a man out. Julian moans and grasps blindly at Rasher’s shoulders, inadvertently grabs one of the spines of his back. It’s hard and smooth like bone, emerging so seamlessly from Rasher’s skin that Julian can’t find where one stops and the other starts. It makes a very good handle as he bucks his hips against Rasher’s mouth, earning him a low rumble and hands pinning his hips to the roof. God, how much of Rasher is longer in this state? His tongue feels at least twice its usual length, or maybe Julian’s just oversensitive. But he feels like Rasher’s able to reach places he usually can’t, like he can cover more with his tongue than he otherwise could. Julian wonders if his cock’s longer, too. But that might have to wait until next time (and there will be a next time), because he’s too close to make Rasher stop so he can find out.

And then—Julian’s voice cracks and breaks as a tentacle joins Rasher’s tongue, pressing rhythmically against his perineum and Julian drops his head back against the car. God, everything is—he’s overwhelmed, his nerves blasted with more sensation than he knows what to do with. His grip on Rasher’s spine goes white-knuckled, like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to this existence, as he desperately claws at Rasher’s shoulder with the other and it’s got to hurt but Rasher or the maw or both just _purrs_ , and Julian feels it in the base of his spine and—

The tentacle and Rasher’s tongue line up just so and it’s like a lightning strike, like a gunshot, and he’s coming so hard, it’s as if all of existence stops and convulses with him, all of reality stopping and starting in the time it takes him to half-scream Rasher’s name, and he’s gone for what feels like an eternity. When he comes back to himself, it’s to Rasher climbing onto the car, his jeans almost around his thighs and his hard cock out. Julian notes it’s not much longer than usual, and if he didn’t feel so well-fucked he’d be slightly disappointed. Rasher slides his cock against Julian’s hip, lets out a growling moan and ruts against him, two hands clutching Julian’s hips and the other two seeking purchase on the roof. The tentacles falling out of the maw are still exploring Julian, and a few wrap around his waist.

Julian strokes a tentacle with one hand, reaches down and grasps Rasher’s cock with the other. He doesn’t have much energy, but he can do this at least. Rasher pants hard at Julian’s touch and bends almost in half to bite his shoulder, and if Julian wasn’t so spent he’d be aroused again. He’s more than a little amazed at Rasher’s flexibility like this. It doesn’t take long for Rasher to come, and when he does he and the maw both let out separate cries, Rasher a garbled moan of Julian’s name and the maw another bass rumble. Julian can practically feel the latter in his bones. Rasher has just enough presence of mind not to collapse onto Julian entirely, but it’s obviously a very near thing.

For a long moment, all they do is lie there catching their breath. There’s barely enough space for them both, Rasher’s got two arms and several tentacles draped over Julian and his legs hang off the back of the car. Finally he nuzzles Julian’s shoulder and sits up. Julian watches through half-lidded eyes as he slowly shrinks back to normal. When he’s done, he hauls his jeans up and tucks himself back in before moving to slide off the car. Julian catches his hand and pulls him back down to lie on top of him for a moment. He kisses his collarbone and strokes one of the stretch marks along Rasher’s ribs left by the transformation, perilously close to the lantern tattoo. Rasher makes a very content-sounding noise and nuzzles Julian’s neck.They drift like this for a while. Eventually Julian lets Rasher go. Rasher slides off the roof, landing gracelessly in the gravel with a thud. Evidently that required a maximum amount of effort, because he then just leans against the car, close to Julian’s legs. Julian props himself up on his elbows, uncaring of his nudity, nudges him with his knee.

“Where’d—“ He stops and coughs, clears his throat. His voice is unacceptably rough, like he’d been the one going down on Rasher. He tries again: “Where’d my trousers go?”

Rasher glances around, then bends out of sight. Julian’s trousers fly up to land in his lap, his underwear close behind, and Julian quickly says, “If you throw my boots up here I’m going to.” His brain short-circuits from exhaustion, unable to conjure a sufficient threat. “Fuck it. Just don’t throw my boots. Help me down.”

Rasher laughs. He doesn’t try to catch Julian when he slides off the car, but he does provide some support for his landing. Julian foregoes his underwear, it’s probably unsalvageable though it serves well enough to clean himself off somewhat, but he tugs his trousers and boots back on. It’s uncomfortable, but less uncomfortable than his underwear would be. He doesn’t bother closing his shirt and waistcoat. Impulsively, he grabs Rasher around the waist and hauls him close for a kiss. He feels a tentacle lick over his belly and giggles. He breaks the kiss and puts his head on Rasher’s shoulder, reaches down to pet the tentacle like a cat. Rasher wraps his arms around him and just holds him.

After a long few moments, Rasher says, “We should probably get back.”

“Mmm.”

Julian lifts his head and steps away from Rasher. He stretches and pops his shoulders, then heads around to the front of the car. Rasher vanishes into the shadows, presumably to retrieve his corset, as Julian ducks in to pop the hood. He then goes to glare at the engine, as if he could will the bone free through sheer frustrated rage. Rasher reappears then, corset tucked into his belt and his jacket under his arm, and puts his chin on Julian’s shoulder. Julian absently reaches up to cup Rasher’s cheek.

“We’ve got to get this bone out of the engine first,” he says. “I think if we get that big one out, the rest of them should grind up fine.” He glances sideways at Rasher with a grin. “Should’ve had you pull it out with one of your extra hands. It wouldn’t matter if you lost one of those, would it?” He’s thinking of the time Rasher accidentally bit the ends of a couple tentacles off once; they regrew after a full transformation.

Rasher opens his mouth, doubtless to argue, but his expression turns thoughtful. “You know what, I don't have a fuckin' clue. Ain’t gonna try it, though.”

Julian gives him a look. “If we don’t get that bone out, we’re stuck here.”

They stare each other down for a moment.

“I am not transforming just to pull a fuckin’ bone out of an engine, Julian,” Rasher says. “Can we. Uh. Can we pry the jaws apart?"

"With?"

"Don't you have a crowbar in the trunk? You stole it from that guy who made fun of the car."

Julian goes around to the back of the car. He does indeed have a crowbar, and it's still got a little blood and brains on it from its previous owner. He grins in fond remembrance as he flicks a chunk of desiccated flesh off the head. He twirls it like a cane as he goes back to the engine. He wedges the crowbar between two of the engine's teeth, leans hard on it. The jaws resist opening, so Julian backs off, resets himself, and leans again, this time applying as much of his weight as he can. The jaws keep resisting, but only for a moment: they slowly begin to open with a grinding noise that makes Julian worry he's stripped something. The bone finally comes free of one jaw.

"Get the bone off," he grits out at Rasher.

"That's a joke that makes itself," Rasher muses as he tries to wiggle, then pull the bone off the teeth. Julian feels a bead of sweat slide down his spine. The jaws don't like being forced open like this and they just want to close. "It's not coming off."

"Sledgehammer in the trunk!" Julian's not going to be able to hold the jaws open much longer. Rasher seems aware of this, because he actually moves at a quicker pace than his usual insouciant saunter to retrieve the hammer.

He comes back with it, examining the scratches and nicks at one end. "Who'd you use this on, the Terminator?" he asks.

Julian just cuts him a glare. Rasher snickers and takes careful aim. One, two, three good blows and the bone cracks and falls into the grinder. Julian gratefully pulls the crowbar out, nearly clocking himself in the head with it, and the jaws clang shut. He hands the crowbar to Rasher and goes to try the engine again. This time it starts without issue, though there's a loud rattle as the bone goes into the grinder. Rasher leans around the hood to give Julian a thumbs-up before closing the hood and slinging himself into the passenger seat.

"Probably have to sharpen the teeth," he says.

"Probably, but that's not my problem," Julian half sing-songs. The fact that the car is running properly has put him in a positively ebullient mood. And really, what does he currently have to be unhappy about? Aside from the beating and the breakdown, it's been a fantastically successful night. They’ll be able to make it back in good time, the car's fine, he got to witness Rasher hunting and killing for him, and he even got spectacularly laid. He doesn’t even have any permanent marks from the beating. All in all, he could almost thank the breakdown.

He glances at Rasher as he drives back onto the highway. Rasher’s rolled the window down, has his arm hanging out the window while he slouches low in the seat. The maw lets a tentacle loll out, then lazily pulls it back in. If Rasher notices, he gives no sign. Julian smiles at his monster, and they drive on towards the dawn.


	5. bedroom hymns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so technically this is written as a coda to 'omophagos' (bc i wanted to flip the dynamic) but like the rest o this shit u can prob get by w/o having read it. i mean honestly its mostly fluff disguised as horror lmao. this one features death and dismemberment and julian getting low-key harassed by stalker fans.
> 
> title from florence + the machine bc i couldnt resist.

Two groupies have been making eyes at Julian all evening long and while at first he enjoyed it and accepted it as his due, now it’s just plain annoying. They’re trying to catch his eye and they obviously want to fuck him, they’re making it painfully clear. The woman keeps pursing her lips slightly and pushing her chest out whenever she thinks he sees her. He loves adoration, he loves attention, but desperation is just sad. And how unobservant can they be? At no point has Julian let any groupies get any closer than is necessary for a photo, at no point has he given any indication he has any interest in them beyond that. Why would he want them, when he has Rasher? Glorious, devilish Rasher, able to take anything Julian gives him and come back for more, the black hole to Julian’s sun, his very own pet monster. Rasher doesn’t fawn over him the way the groupies do, he pushes back. If Julian gives him an order, he just grins and tells Julian to make him. Oh, he’ll cave sometimes, he knows when to submit and he submits so prettily, but for the most part he’s all catlike insolence and laconic piss and vinegar. The groupies would throw themselves off a cliff if he told them to. That’s not worship, that’s just blind, stupid obedience.

It’s all in the eyes, Julian decides. Rasher looks at him like he’s prey and god and lover all at once, which, well, all of that’s true. When he catches Rasher’s eye, he sees everything and is himself completely seen. Rasher knows who he is offstage. The groupies don’t know, don’t get to know. They don’t look at him with anything but a sheeplike devotion. They gaze up at him like little sunflowers turning to the sun. There’s nothing behind their eyes. No greater understanding, no _desire_ for greater understanding; they look at his surface and decide it’s enough, they don’t look deeper. As he once heard a street preacher say, they have eyes and do not see. But these two? They’re looking at him like they want to take him apart, and not to see how he ticks. There’s just base desire there, they don’t _want_ him. They just want to fuck him. He thinks they’re a man and a woman, but he’s not sure; the one he thinks is male is feminine enough that he might just be a woman. Not that it would make a difference, he has no intention of letting them do whatever they want to do. The girl’s wearing a black bustier that’s pushing her tits almost up to her chin and a black tutu decorated with shredded red lace. She makes a pretty picture, but not to Julian. The other’s got a black t-shirt with the sleeves cut off over a fishnet shirt and black skinny jeans. Not a bad look, if Julian’s honest, but very pedestrian. God, they’re not even interesting. He spots Rasher prowling in the shadows and discreetly points the two groupies out. Rasher nods and disappears. He’ll keep an eye on them, intervene if he has to and get them away.

They’re slippery little fish, though; Julian keeps seeing them throughout the night as he descends from on high and moves amongst the crowds. Sometimes he just catches a glimpse of them, before a cluster of fans moves between him and them and gives him a chance to evade them. Multiple times he glances around and spots one or the other of them. It’s usually the woman he sees, she just has more presence than the man. She doesn’t stand out much, not in this crowd, but she’s still more noticeable than the man. Once he catches her staring at him, and without taking her eyes off him she turns to the man and says something into his ear. She looks back at him and grins. Julian doesn’t bother hiding his disgust. He feels like she’s trying to peel him out of his clothes, like she’s picturing him naked, and he doesn’t like it. No one gets to look at him like that. What the hell is Rasher doing, how are they still here?

Granted, Rasher has about a million different duties. Wrangling troublesome groupies technically isn’t his job, he just takes it upon himself to do so if they’re Julian’s groupies. Anyone else’s, he leaves them to the bouncer roadies. Even so, there’re always fires he needs to put out, people to order around. If one or two groupies get too close to Julian, it’s not entirely his fault. And these two are particularly determined, after all. _And_ he’s doing a good enough job; they haven’t actually gotten near enough to Julian to actually talk to him. Julian knows if they do they’re gone, possibly missing a limb or two, if not their lives. It’s a comforting thought. And, honestly, how much trouble are they really giving him? So they’re basically stalking him. He can always have them thrown in an engine, or find some way of keeping them from making the next rendezvous on time. Really, what harm are they doing?

But then he finds himself near enough to them to hear them snickering and speculating on the size of his dick, not realizing he’s behind them. Oh, heads will roll for that one. He goes to find Rasher, he wants those two gone, _now_.

He finds Rasher by the stage, talking to a roadie. He dismisses the roadie as soon as he sees Julian approaching with an expression like thunder on his face.

“Get rid of those two,” Julian snarls before Rasher can react. “They’re driving me mad. Come to my trailer after you’ve dealt with them.”

“Yes, boss,” Rasher says flippantly and dismissively, though Julian sees the predatory gleam in his eyes.

He heads off, and Julian watches as he disappears into the crowd. How someone so tall manages to disappear so quickly and easily is and always will be beyond Julian. He turns and heads off in the direction of his trailer, confident the two will shortly no longer be a problem. Rasher’s on the hunt and he won’t let them get away.

Unfortunately, they apparently give Rasher the slip somehow. Julian has his hand on the door of his trailer when a woman calls out to him:

“We can show you a good time, you know.”

Julian turns, eyebrows raised in a clear expression of disdain. The two are standing by another trailer, the woman twirling hair around her finger and the man standing with one hip cocked to the side. They both have smug little smirks on their faces that just piss Julian off. Do they honestly think that tired line is going to arouse any interest in him? Does he come off as that easy? _Please_. “Really?” he says, lacing his words with as much scorn and contempt as he’s ever used on a Heart flunky.

“Uh-huh.” The woman walks towards him, swinging her hips. She’s got a grin that she probably thinks is sultry but just looks bitchy. “My name’s Vanessa. That’s my friend Trent. We’re _big fans_ of yours, we’d do anything to prove it.”

“Then buzz off, little flies,” Julian says, making a dismissive gesture with one hand. “I’m not in the habit of fucking the groupies.” He pitches his voice louder. “Rasher!”

“Aw, don’t be like that.” Vanessa makes a little pouty face. “We just wanna have fun. I promise we’re real good, we’ll do whatever you tell us to. You can have us both, or maybe just one of us.” She smiles again. “I saw you looking at me earlier. I think you want me. Just let me in.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Julian says. He sees movement behind Vanessa and grins. Here’s Trouble. “I know someone who wouldn’t be too happy with it.”

“Aw, come on,” Vanessa wheedles. She steps close, crowding Julian against the trailer. “You mean that twig in the corset? Monogamy is _so_ last year.” She steps closer still, almost pressed the length of him. “Besides, I’m way prettier than he is.” Fat chance. “Or you could just invite him. I’ll invite Trent, we’ll make it a real party.” She gives him what she clearly thinks is a seductive grin, strokes her hand down his chest. He’s got his back against the trailer wall, he doesn’t have anywhere to go, no way to escape her. He doesn’t particularly want to; he wants to sign her death warrant and the longer he stays put the darker the ink will be. “What do you say?”

Much to Julian’s distaste, she slides her hand lower to cup his crotch before he can reply. The speed with which her face goes from flirty to confused to borderline disgusted has got to be a record.

“What the f—“

“ _That’s not for you._ ”

Before Julian can respond to either Vanessa’s reaction or her aborted words or even her touch, tentacles wrap around her arms and waist, thick and slimy and, as Julian knows all too well, unfathomably strong. Vanessa screams as the tentacles lift her high into the air, her legs kicking uselessly some three or four feet off the ground. She cranes her head around, screams again when she sees Rasher, fully transformed, holding Trent by the neck with one bony hand. Trent’s face is a very unattractive shade of red, he’s sputtering and gasping as he claws feebly at Rasher’s wrist. Rasher’s looking at him, but then his head turns so he’s looking at Vanessa. The maw is letting out a steady low rumble, like an idling engine. Tentacles that aren’t wrapped around Vanessa are lashing like cats’ tails. The black of the maw has spread across Rasher's torso, streaking and spilling like ink.

“You don’t get to touch him,” Rasher says. “Not you.” He looks back at Trent, who’s now purple. “Not you.” His head turns to the rest of the convoy. “Not them.” He lifts them both higher. “Only _me._ ”

Julian has never liked to be owned. Heart thinks they own him like a possession. The fans think they own him, in that single-minded obsessive way fans think they own celebrities. But, he decides in that moment, he certainly belongs to Rasher, just as much as Rasher belongs to Julian. In that moment, seeing Rasher’s righteous rage at Vanessa and Trent’s effrontery in thinking they deserved to touch Julian, Julian is entirely happy to be Rasher’s, because Rasher _understands_. He knows the outrage that someone else dares think they can touch a god and not lose their hand for it. A god is not for mortal hands. And these mortals, these fragile little humans, they wouldn’t survive Julian anyway, they wouldn’t satisfy him the way Rasher can. They can only handle what he projects from the stage, they can’t hope to give a home to the rest of him, to take all of him and accept it and offer just as much in exchange. Only Rasher can bear the weight of Julian in his entirety. The fans would be burned by Julian like so many wax wings, each one an Icarus plunging to their doom.

But Rasher… Rasher can bear the weight of his gaze. Rasher can reach from the depths of hell to touch Julian in his rarefied heights. Julian is the god at whose altar sacrifices are made, but Rasher is the beast at the base of that altar. Rasher is the one who hunts those who fail to satisfy, those who dare think they can take more than Julian is willing to give them. Julian lifts a finger and points them out and Rasher goes and brings back their still-beating hearts. Rasher destroys them and then he comes to Julian and with hands and tentacles dismantles him and puts him back together, and he trusts Julian with the same cycle of destruction and reconstruction. Julian can dismantle Rasher just as much and just as easily, and they both know it and revel in it and allow it.

Julian is Rasher’s and Rasher is Julian’s and that’s right and good and proper. A god needs a devil, an angel of death. Equal and entwined and everything to each other. Julian’s whole body flushes hot.

Ordinarily when Julian sics Rasher on a fan, Rasher asks him what to do with them. But these two, these persistent and stupid two, guilty of the greatest violation, don’t get even the chance of dubious mercy from Julian. One of Rasher’s other hands goes to the top of Trent’s head, clutches tight. He gives it a savage twist and actually yanks his head clean off. Blood fountains from the stump of Trent’s neck, spraying over Rasher and the ground. A few hot drops land on Julian’s cheek, making him shiver. Vanessa screams and flails anew, though surely she knows it’s a wasted effort. Rasher drops Trent’s head and body and turns his attention to her. He brings her closer, reeling her in like a fish. The tentacles ripple and turn her around so she’s facing Rasher. She’s begging and pleading for mercy now, her makeup running in black streaks down her face.

Casually, calmly, as if he doesn’t even hear her words, Rasher reaches up to her neck with one hand. He sets the tips of his claws around her windpipe, then very delicately sinks them in. Blood spurts out from around his claws. She screams breathlessly.

“You don’t get to touch him,” Rasher says again. Then he tears her windpipe out.

He tosses her aside, blood pouring from the ruin of her neck, and looks at Julian, pressed against the trailer. Julian can guess what he sees, he can guess what he looks like: face doubtless flushed, chest heaving, his head tipped back like he’s baring his throat. Hell, Rasher can probably smell him, he knows he’s wet and he knows Rasher’s smelled his arousal in the past. But how can he not be, Rasher’s _beautiful_ , a terrible and beautiful monster with blood running down his elongated torso and staining his four long hands like some ecstatic vision of a monster of Hell. It makes Julian’s chest ache in a very specific way, lust and affection and the sheer possessive pride of “ _That beast kills for me and loves me and I hold every bit of him and he holds me in his claws and he won’t hurt me unless I want him to._ ” Julian’s breath turns shuddery.

Rasher goes over to him, looms over him. One of the tentacles that had wrapped around Vanessa’s waist lifts and slides over Julian’s cheek, leaving a smear of blood behind. He catches it as it starts to move away, licks the blood from it as slowly and lasciviously as he’s ever licked Rasher’s cock. He hears someone, something, purr and can’t tell if it’s Rasher or the maw. Rasher bends low to him as Julian reaches up to put his hands along his neck. They kiss, and Julian feels hands settle along his waist, his hips, his cheek. A hand slides from his hip to bring his leg up, then a second hand goes to his opposite thigh. And Julian’s being lifted like he weighs less than nothing, effortless and so breathtakingly titillating. Julian gets his legs around the base of Rasher’s ribs and deepens the kiss. He wraps his arms around Rasher’s shoulders and finds the spine that grows from his cervical vertebra. He rubs the base of it without thinking and is rewarded with the ambiguous purring sound again.

Rasher’s the one to break the kiss. He puts Julian against the trailer, tugs at his collar with one hand until he bares Julian’s neck. He moves in and sets his teeth under Julian’s jaw, a tease and a warning, bites down until Julian gasps and arches against him. He clutches the back of Rasher’s head and wishes he had the leverage or positioning to rut against Rasher’s torso because he needs something, anything, to give him some relief. Rasher bites down a little harder and Julian lets out a noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper.

He certainly whines when Rasher takes his teeth away. But then Rasher leans close to his ear and growls, “You’re mine,” and Julian shudders. He’s just watched Rasher kill two people for the audacity and crime of touching Julian, mostly out of possessiveness and devotion, and between that and the way Rasher’s acting right now, Julian is helplessly aroused. “Only mine.” The maw rumbles at the edge of his words as if also laying claim to Julian.

“Yes,” Julian gasps. He pants for a moment before hooking a finger in Rasher’s collar. He moves in quick and bites his neck hard just above the collar. Rasher growls and digs his fingers into Julian’s thighs. His claws puncture his trousers and prick his skin and he’ll be mad about that later, but now he’s more interested in leaving a mark on Rasher’s neck. He might belong to Rasher, but Rasher belongs to Julian, too. He pulls away, leaving a bruise behind, and pulls him down for another kiss. 

He feels hands opening his belt and trousers, Rasher’s claws clicking against his belt buckle, and then one of those hands slides in and presses against him, claws a dangerous hint against his skin and that only makes it hotter. Julian gasps again, half in arousal and half in relief and rolls his hips against Rasher’s hand. Rasher hoists him higher, easily holding him up with three hands, uses tentacles to pull his trousers lower. Julian stops paying attention when Rasher works his hand against him, stroking and pressing and rubbing, his eyes sliding shut and mouth falling open as he pants and moans. When Rasher pulls his hand away Julian _growls_ , he was so fucking close, and he looks down to see Rasher licking his hand clean like Julian’s slick is the finest wine and that alone almost tips him over, that little hint of worship after everything.

“Rasher,” he pants, “Rasher, come on…”

Rasher barely glances up at him before he moves in and licks Julian’s cock. Julian lets out a hissed, strangled swear and arches, clutching Rasher’s head, managing to sling his legs one at a time over Rasher’s shoulders. He’d wondered before if Rasher’s tongue was longer when he’s transformed and he’s certain of it now, he feels so much more of him, and it's split like it's been bifurcated. The two halves move independently, _fuck_. The maw has slipped tentacles up under Julian’s shirt, and they’re teasing and flicking over him like Rasher’s tongue and grasping at his body and it’s maddening, it’s so much but not enough, he needs more, he needs—he’s begging now, he knows it, but he doesn’t know what he’s begging for. He’s not sure if he’s begging for anything in particular. At any other moment he might be half-ashamed; gods don’t beg for anything. But here, if nowhere else, does he concede power to Rasher, and he’s not ashamed to beg now.

A tentacle flicks over his hole like the slightest brush of a tongue. His voice goes tight and thin.

“Yes,” he manages, “yes, yes, come on, come _on—_!”

He feels Rasher’s lips curl in a grin just before the tentacle presses against his hole, then into him. He lets out a drawn-out gasping moan. His body goes tense, arching, thighs twitching and trembling, it’s so much all at once, the tentacle fucking in and out of him slow and smooth like Rasher’s cock, Rasher’s tongue between his legs and so long—Rasher’s mustache brushes against him and he feels so much, almost too much, his voice is about gone—

Rasher’s hand on his thigh tightens so that his claws puncture his trousers again and this time they puncture his skin, too. He cries out, half in shock at the pain and half in a blistering shock of arousal that makes him clench around the tentacle enough that the maw growls faintly. The tentacle slides almost out, then pushes in hard at the same time Rasher grazes his sharp teeth against Julian—

And it’s white-out, it’s intense, Julian’s voice breaks and gives out halfway through a shout of Rasher’s name, he’s coming so hard, his nails biting against Rasher’s shoulders, his body curving over Rasher and his thighs pressing against the side of Rasher’s head, and he’s gone.

He comes back slowly, still panting. He has a dim awareness of Rasher lowering him as he comes down, as the tentacle slides out of him. He doesn’t put him on the ground, likely knowing that if he did Julian’s legs would give out, but he does bring him low enough to put Julian’s chest level with his head. With one hand he opens Julian’s shirt and waistcoat, pulls his cravat free of his collar to let it fall to the ground. By now Julian’s regained enough of himself to watch as Rasher moves in to leave affectionate kisses across Julian’s chest, gentle and almost sweet, though Julian knows he’s got to be aching by now. But if Rasher’s content for the moment to lavish attention on Julian rather than seek his own relief, Julian’s content to bask in it. He still feels loose-limbed from orgasm, like he’s improperly settled in his body. He manages to slowly pet Rasher, at least. There are still tentacles swarming over him, but they’re moving slow and languid, echoing Rasher’s kisses. They’re soothing, despite the slime.

His monster is so good to him. He looks down at the top of his head, bends to press a kiss there. He can be good to his monster, too.

Julian taps Rasher’s shoulder. “Set me down,” he says, voice slightly hoarse. Rasher glances up at him and complies. Julian tugs his trousers back up and looks Rasher over. There are still tentacles twisting out of the maw, some almost eye-level with Julian. He takes one in hand, kisses it, licks it like Rasher’s cock and gives the end a teasing little suck. He hears that familiar purr and smirks. He takes another, gives it the same treatment, then a third. The maw purrs (or maybe it was Rasher) and curls a tentacle over his cheek like a caress. He turns and kisses it, eyes closing for a moment. When he opens them again, Rasher is leaning over him with two arms braced on the trailer, his own eyes closed. Rasher reaches down and opens his jeans, pulls his cock out. He reaches for a tentacle for the slime, but before he can slick his hand Julian moves forward and goes to his knees. He takes Rasher’s cock in hand, angles it so he can lick from the lowest bar up to the top. It shocks a sound out of Rasher, harsh and guttural and animalistic and almost enough to arouse Julian again. He takes Rasher into his mouth, sucks hard.

Rasher’s hand clenches in his hair as a tentacle curls against Julian’s cheek again, as a second curls around the back of his neck. It holds him in place, keeps him from bobbing his head the way he normally does. It allows Rasher to move his hips, fuck a little into Julian’s mouth. Julian uses his tongue, teases the piercings until Rasher’s panting above him. It doesn’t take long, Julian almost feels like he’s barely started when Rasher’s hips jerk and he comes into his mouth. Julian swallows, licks his lips, as Rasher pants above him. He can see Rasher’s elbows quivering.

“Get down here,” Julian says as he drops to his ass in the dirt and leans back against the trailer. His voice is shot, he hopes it’ll have recovered by morning.

Rasher goes to his knees and curls over and around Julian, caging him in six lanky limbs and a handful of tentacles. It feels as protective as it does possessive and Julian finds it a little charming. Rasher puts his head on Julian’s shoulder, purrs when Julian reaches up to pet him. Gradually Rasher shrinks back to normal, but he stays put nonetheless. They sit like that for several long moments that blur and slide into each other like slow molasses. Rasher nuzzles Julian’s neck.

“Mine,” he mumbles against Julian’s skin. A tentacle curls out of the maw and wraps around Julian’s waist.

Julian just smiles. He pets the tentacle, pets Rasher. “My dear monster,” he murmurs.


	6. we make such a lovely pair with our middle fingers in the air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i've wanted to write monster!rasher bending julian over the hood o a car for ages now and i've been doing a 30day nsfw challenge on tumblr and one o the prompts is 'on the desk', but that doesn't work for these two so i changed it to 'on the hood o a car' bc I Do What I Want :>
> 
> title from harley poe's 'still here' (mostly chosen bc there's a line abt screwing in a car and i'd've used that line but they're not screwing IN a car, they're screwing ON a car)

He can hear, feel Rasher panting against his neck, breath hot against Julian’s skin, the sound ragged and harsh, as Rasher pounds into him. The half-healed bite mark throbs in delicious counterpoint to Rasher’s thrusts. He’s half-transformed, he’s got the claws and the spines but only two arms and only a foot or so of extra height. He’s got all of the bestial urges, though, all of the lust for blood and sex, he’d pinned Julian to the hood as soon as he appeared out of the shadows. Julian’s exhibitionism very much enjoys being fucked on the side of the road, so as soon as Rasher had stepped away from the car and vanished into the night Julian had pushed his own trousers and underwear down, worked himself up and open for him. Rasher had come back to find him half-laying on the car, one hand working between his legs and a plug sticking out of his ass.

Rasher, not the maw, had _growled_ at the sight and Julian had almost come then and there. That he had that kind of an effect on a beast like Rasher, the knowledge that no matter how transformed he became Rasher would still want Julian, both were incredibly heady. He held Rasher in the palm of his hand, had him wrapped around his little finger, even as Rasher’s tentacles wrapped around his waist.

Rasher went up to him, stood between his widespread thighs, and bent in low to trail his long, bifurcated tongue along the crook of Julian’s neck. His clawed hands settled on Julian’s hips, clutching just enough that Julian could feel the tips of his claws grazing his skin, pulling him close enough that Rasher’s erection, still contained in his jeans, pushed against the plug and made Julian whine and tense. His head tipped back unthinkingly, and Rasher gently closed his teeth around Julian’s throat. Julian inhaled shakily, as much in animal fear as sudden, sharp arousal; he knew Rasher could tear his throat out as easily as blink. He also knew that he wouldn’t.

And then Rasher had taken his teeth away and wrapped tentacles around his waist and turned him effortlessly around, as if Julian weighed no more than a pillow. Rasher was so unfathomably _strong_ like this. He wasn’t weak when he wasn’t transformed, but as a monster the. strength in his stretched, skinny limbs was shocking and terrifying. He pushed Julian’s torso forward so he was bent over the hood. He pulled the plug out, slowly enough that Julian knew he had enough presence of mind to tease him. It made Julian whine again and squirm, desperate for something, anything, a tentacle or Rasher’s cock or the plug. But Rasher had only hovered over him, nosing along the crook of his neck, scenting him the way an animal might. Julian tried to hold still, but a tentacle probed along the rim of his hole like a questing finger and it made him antsy, set pleas on the tip of his tongue that he determinedly held back. He might have been offering himself to Rasher, but he wasn’t going to beg.

He felt Rasher’s mustache and lips, his sharp teeth graze his skin as he opened his mouth, and in one motion Rasher fucked into him and bit down _hard._ Julian stuttered out a swear and arched against Rasher and only just barely managed not to come.

Julian has no idea how long ago that was; everything feels sharp and overwhelming and too short and not long enough. He’s all sensation, all brief flickers of pain from Rasher’s claws and the dull burn of the bite mark (Rasher had drawn blood, Julian can just see it in his peripheral vision as it pools on the hood) and the absolute inferno of pleasure engulfing him. His shins and knees are knocking against the bumper and he’ll probably have the grill imprinted on his thighs but that’s all a concern for Later, all that matters Now is how fucking good it all feels, how he’s skating right on the edge of orgasm and a single wobble would tip him over, and it’s only by his fingernails that he keeps himself on that edge. Rasher’s arms are braced on the hood by Julian’s head and he feels caged, surrounded and possessed by the singular monster at his back, who could rip him to pieces and instead chooses to fuck him, who chases his pleasure with Julian’s body and gives Julian pleasure with his own.

The bite mark itches as it heals, and for once Julian wishes he didn’t heal so quickly, he wants to feel it and see it for weeks. His only consolation is that the scar will probably be hypertrophic. He’ll wear it with pride, even though Rasher will be the only one to see it. It marks Julian as Rasher’s, but it marks Rasher as Julian’s as well: _Julian_ inspired that kind of possessiveness, _Julian_ permitted the bite, _Julian_ is the one Rasher is allowed to bite.

He feels something slick against his back and knows it’s a tentacle lolling out of the maw. Several others join it, all but the first wrapping around Julian’s torso like arms, holding him in place, adjusting the angle of his hips, one teasing his left nipple where it wraps around his chest and a second curling up around his neck and over his cheek. The first slides between his legs to rub against his dick, drawing a breathless almost-noise out of him and a growling purr from either Rasher or the maw at the taste of him.

Rasher’s claws scrape over the hood with a metallic noise and he makes a desperate noise when, prompted by the tentacle curling close to his lips, Julian turns his head and opens his mouth to let the tentacle in. The maw rumbles, the tentacle rubbing Julian’s cock ripples against him, as Julian works his tongue against the tentacle. Rasher’s fast losing his rhythm, and a growling moan is Julian’s only warning before Rasher comes and bites him again, right at the nape of his neck, and it’s pure possessiveness and a mark to claim and show ownership like an animal would.

“Sh-shit!” Julian’s palms slide on the hood as he jerks and comes, hard and sudden, like getting hit over the head with a crowbar. He’s gone.

It’s a very long moment before he comes back, finds Rasher pinning him to the hood like his limbs have turned to jelly, tentacles still wrapped around him but slack. He can feel blood trickling down his neck and shoulder. He doesn’t even want to try to speak right now. Rasher makes a quiet noise, lifts his head from where he’d laid it on Julian’s uninjured shoulder. Julian hums as Rasher begins to lick the blood from his skin, slow and gentle. Rasher kisses the bite mark when he’s finished and pulls out, lets Julian roll onto his back so he can pull Rasher down to hold and be held by him.

Julian kisses Rasher’s head as Rasher slowly returns to normal, strokes his back and shoulders, petting him like a dog as if rewarding him for a job well done. In a way, he is; Rasher knows how to treat him right, and Julian feels treated very right indeed. He knows he’ll ache later, especially his shins where they were pressed against the bumper, but for now he just feels content and thoroughly sated and is perfectly happy just to lie there under his monster. He rubs the pads of his fingers over the bumps of Rasher’s spine, now beneath his skin again and blackened only by ink.

“Mmm. Keep doin’ that,” Rasher slurs, tucking his face against Julian’s neck.

“We need to head back,” Julian says after a moment. Now that their heat has faded somewhat, the night air’s cold against his skin and he wants his clothes back on. Rasher just grumbles at him. “You’ll have to drive.”

“Nope, can’t.” Rasher sounds half-asleep.

Julian doesn’t feel much more awake. Well, fuck it. There’re blankets in the back, it wouldn’t be the first time they’ve spent the night in the car. Julian will get him moving soon, get them off the hood and to some semblance of put-together and the backseat folded down, where they’ll curl up together and sleep.

But for now, the hood and the stars and Rasher warm atop him.


End file.
